


Begin Again

by genegin



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28584345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genegin/pseuds/genegin
Summary: Junior year is supposed to be a year of change. It's the year Kyle figures everything out. Unluckily for him, a mail mishap completely upturns that plan, and Kyle finds himself navigating his relationships, his misconceptions, and his future - all while the past catches up to him.Based on 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before'
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Stan and Wendy broke up on Thursday. 

Well, if Kyle gets technical about it, Wendy broke up with Stan. She can tell Kyle over and over again that it was mutual, but Kyle knows both of them too well to believe that. Wendy plans everything to the T, so she must have an intelligible reason for choosing to do this the first week of their junior year. 

Kyle stops by Stan’s house after school on Friday. It turns into a five hour sob-fest as Stan cries and Kyle periodically hands him Kleenex.

There’s something distinctly unsettling seeing Stan, who usually only cries at cute puppy videos and old romantic films, bawling his eyes out. Kyle has seen him at his highs and lows, but this is marginally worse, because underneath that horror, there’s a crushing guilt that Kyle had wished for exactly this to happen.

He’s dreamt about Wendy and Stan breaking up, concocted scenarios where Stan realized he’d been in love with Kyle all along. But wide awake, watching it actually unfold, is the furthest thing from a dream.

Stan is heartbroken, and Kyle is a terrible person for wanting to fit into Wendy’s place. She’s Kyle’s best friend aside from Stan, and somehow, through witchcraft or pure luck, their dynamic works perfectly. 

Wendy and Stan are — were dating. Kyle is their mutual best friend. And, a problem that was agonizing before but is potentially friendship ending now: Kyle is in love with Stan.

Surely, two people as headstrong as him and Wendy, and someone as persevering as Stan, can last. But adding his feelings to the mix is sailing a ship that’s guaranteed to crash and burn. There’s too many facets, and even without Kyle’s unwanted feelings, it’s going to be awkward on Monday. 

Kyle can’t — won’t let that happen. As naive as it is, he kind of hopes the three of them will be forever. His life wouldn’t be the same without them, and if Stan and Wendy don’t know how to fix things, Kyle will.

And so, as he drives home, he decides he’s going to take all these emotions, all the pining and self-serving fantasies, and he’s going to bury it, bury it, bury it.  
  


* * *

  
Ike is watching reruns of Survivor on the TV when Kyle gets back. Their parents are out, presumably on a shopping trip or whatever new scheme the town is trying to rope them into.

His bed is unmade, covers strewn on the floor. Most of his room is neatly kept, but his closet is always a war zone. Kyle finds the old shoebox buried under a pile of forgotten clothing and old homework assignments. It’s covered in a thin layer of dust, and he wrinkles his nose as he brushes it off. 

It’s almost 8 pm. He’s already droopy-eyed, completely petered out from Stan’s crying — it feels like Stan has cried enough to last him the whole year, though, knowing him, he still has plenty of tears left.

Kyle finds a sheet of fancy stationary to write on and sets the shoebox on the floor. It’s filled with long, grievous letters written for every boy he’s liked. It’s like a ritual, the sort of ritual Kyle would laugh at if he didn’t rely so heavily on it. 

He hasn’t done this since freshman year, when Token Black was confirmed straight. That was the kind of heartbreak Kyle couldn’t bother dealing with, so he’d quashed all of his unnecessary feelings and put them away.

The very first letter was from fifth grade, when Kyle found out Jimmy Valmer was dating Nancy Davis. In a bout of misery, fueled by his destitute chances of ever kissing Jimmy, he’d written, sealed, and addressed the letter, just to dump it in the trash. After a long night of pitiful wibbling he’d muffled with his pillow, he felt much better. Kyle fished Jimmy’s letter out of the trash bin and put it in a shoebox, safe and well hidden and sacred. 

He’d done the same when David Rodriguez moved away in seventh grade, and like a spell, all his pining and hurt disappeared. It worked again for Kenny McCormick, who arguably, had been the hardest letter to write. Sometimes Kyle will read his old letters, cringing at his inarticulate phrasing and clumsy handwriting, but he’s never been brave enough to reread Kenny’s. He’s pretty sure there are tear stains on it.

At a certain point in his life, Kyle had thought he wouldn’t be able to survive without Kenny, an anchor, ever present, but then too much happened in eighth grade, and now they don’t even look at each other in the hallways.

Kyle bites his lip, pen point bleeding onto the paper in a circle. He just hopes this works for Stan, because it hasn’t let him down yet.

_ Stan,  _

_ I liked you first.  _

Wendy hadn’t liked Stan when she became friends with Kyle, but he’d turned away for what seemed like a second, and they were holding hands and saying  _ we have something to tell you _ .

_ I was too scared to tell you. So I never did. And probably never will, unless we’re old and drunk and talking about this when we’re both married with kids.  _

The buildup takes a few paragraphs. Kyle writes all the tiny details about how he can’t ruin their friendship, how much Stan means to him, and seals them away. It’s close to 8:30 when he feels the first bits of catharsis, all his angst soaking into the paper.

_ You’re great, Stan. I know that sounds generic, but you’re good-looking, kind (like, actually kind, not just nice), have ridiculously clear skin, and you’re the best friend I could ask for. I really care about you. I always will. _

_ Love, _

_ Kyle _

Kyle sits back, hand aching from his furious scribbling. He’s contemplating writing a post-script when Ike opens his door.

“Kyle?”

“Christ!” Kyle fumbles with his pen, shoving the letter out of Ike’s sight.

Ike squints at his desk. “Mom said to order takeout for dinner.”

“I — yeah. Okay. I’ll be down in a second.” He tries to subtly nudge the shoebox under his bed. “Knock next time,” he snaps when he sees Ike’s eyes following his movement.

Ike blows a raspberry and leaves the door hanging open.

Kyle sighs, turning around to fold the letter and put it away. He’s satisfied with it, feeling lighter already, and he doesn’t want Ike to catch him writing again. 

Kyle joins Ike’s Survivor binge when the takeout arrives. It’s been going on for a few hours, and Ike seems bored. He keeps looking at his phone, and Kyle smiles.

“Texting Firkle?” 

The phone clicks shut as Ike stiffens, turning his face away from Kyle. “No.”

“Come on. You can tell me.”

“I’m not texting anyone.”

“And your phone is blowing up for no reason,” Kyle teases.

“What about you?” Ike asks, catching him off guard. “Why aren’t you texting anyone?”

Kyle blanches. He usually hangs out with Stan and Wendy on Fridays, but that clearly isn’t happening tonight. Thinking about their drama is already tiring him out. 

“See?” Ike huffs at his silence. “You don’t like being asked questions either.” His feet stomp up the stairs, and Kyle swallows the uncomfortable lump in his throat as he hears a door slam shut.

It’s a little sad that he’s getting ready for bed at 10 pm on a Friday night, but Kyle’s earned it after the day’s emotional rollercoaster. He knocks on Ike’s bedroom door, leaning against the frame. “Ike?”

“I’m not mad.” Ike’s voice is muffled through the door. His tone speaks differently, but Kyle knows better than to bother him when he’s in one of his moods.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Wendy sent him a text about their Spanish project on Monday. They’d paired together for a debate their freshman year, absolutely crushed the competition, and had partnered for every project since. Kyle sends a quick reply as he brushes his teeth. 

He hides the shoebox in the corner of the closet, buried underneath old clothes, and crawls under his covers, wide awake.

The storm will blow over during the weekend, and then everything will be fine. Stan and Wendy will figure it out. Kyle will be over Stan. They’ll stay friends, invincible and unbreakable. He’s got a good feeling about Monday.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you memorize the notes?” Wendy looks up from her notecards, expression frantic. Her hair is sticking in four different directions as she hastily ties it back. 

“ _Yes_ , Wendy,” Kyle says. She always gets frazzled before a presentation, and she used to take Kyle down with her. Usually Stan talks her down before her anxiety permeates everything within fifty feet, but Stan didn’t show up to school at all. Besides, there’s a fat chance he’ll come anywhere near Wendy the next few days.

Kyle hasn’t heard from him since Friday, but he’ll worry about that later. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Wendy squeezes his shoulder with a shaky hand when they’re called up front. As always, the minute she starts speaking, she’s confident, standing straight as she delivers her portion of the script perfectly.

It’d taken Kyle a while to fake that same composure. He’s long since accepted that Wendy is on a completely different level. She’s a straight-A student, and already signed with Yale to play lacrosse. Kyle hasn’t even finished taking the SAT’s. He tries not to be jealous about it.

She gives Kyle a warning look when he messes up the conjugation on one of his slides, but aside from that, the rest of the presentation goes smoothly.

“Nice,” she whispers to him once it’s over, slapping his hand in a high-five. He grins in answer, glad that Wendy is acting like her usual self. He’s always liked her ability to let things roll right off her shoulders, although to the outside, it might seem cruel and calculating. Regardless, it’ll make patching things up with Stan easier.

“Hey,” he says while the second group gets ready. “Are you okay?”

Wendy glances at him, face unreadable. “I’m fine,” she says easily. She bites her lip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Is Stan?”

Kyle snorts. “What do you think?” Honestly, he’s a little mad at her, but he doesn’t want her to feel bad. The derision must bleed through his voice anyways, because she looks away. 

“Well,” she pauses, testing her words, “If anything, I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this.”

He wants to tell her that isn’t what she should feel sorry for, but Kyle doesn’t know how. It wouldn’t do anything either way, because Wendy is the kind of person too prideful to apologize for things that actually matter, even when they’re hanging right in front of her. Kyle can’t blame her, because he’s of the same brand.

Neither of them want to get yelled at for talking during class, so they let the subject drop.  
  


* * *

  
Kyle sends Stan a quick text before gym class. 

_where r u?_

He’s not too worried when Stan doesn’t reply right away. He rarely checks his phone; Wendy used to nag him about it.

The locker room is crowded when he enters and shuffles past a group of half-naked boys. Kyle used to feel self-conscious changing in front of them — he still does sometimes — so he picked up the habit of changing after the room was basically empty.

He washes his hands after pulling on an old t-shirt, the clatter of the paper towel dispenser echoing in the room as he dries his hands, when he sees Token, tall and clean-cut, standing right in front of his locker.

Kyle blinks. Token’s locker is on the other side of the room. They used to invite each other to birthday parties, though that was more out of courtesy than actual friendship, and the last time they spoke was in ninth grade algebra, when Kyle still had a crush on him.

“Hey.” Kyle stoops over to pull his shoes on, straightening apprehensively in the stretched out silence.

Token takes a step back and clears his throat. His expression looks like he’s about to drop a bomb, and Kyle instinctively stiffens. 

“Kyle. I really appreciate all the nice things you said,” he coughs when Kyle gives him a scrutinizing look, “but I guess I assumed that you knew I was...straight.”

The locker door swings open as someone walks in, the sound carrying in the quiet. The person leaves a second later, and Kyle is still searching for what to say.

“ _What?_ ” he manages. Is Token making some sort of cruel joke? They’re the only two people left in the locker room. “I mean, _yeah_ , I know you’re straight, but why…” 

“Oh.” Token’s cheeks color. “Well. I got this in the mail.”

And — _no_ — he holds up one of Kyle’s letters.

Kyle gapes. 

At first, he’s sure it’s a trick. But then he looks twice, and that’s the same handwriting, the same blue ink that Kyle uses for everything.

_There’s no way. There’s no way that could have gotten out._

“I got it on Saturday, and I’m sorry if I sound like an asshole, but I was a little confused.”

Kyle sucks in a breath, feeling faint. “I — Token, I wrote that years ago.” _This isn’t real._ “I’m so sorry. You were never supposed to see it, and — I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You were never — how — in the mail?”

“Dude,” Token grins, relaxing at Kyle’s shared confusion. “It’s cool. I’m just returning it. It seems pretty personal.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Kyle repeats, mind reeling. “I have no idea-” 

“Don’t be,” says Token, cutting off his spiral. “I’ve never gotten a love letter before, so this is kinda neat. But honestly, we’re cool. And, uh, I won’t tell anyone.” Token pats his arm as Kyle wordlessly takes the letter back. He can barely manage a nod when Token says ‘see you around’.

Kyle shoves the letter into his bag the second he’s alone, heart beating sporadically. He barely registers where he’s going as he stumbles outside, still trying to wrap his head around that encounter.

It doesn’t make sense. It’s his letter, his handwriting, his gay angst he’d word-vomited in a panic. No one could have known where it was. Maybe this is some sort of nightmare, or a fever dream. He brings a hand up to his forehead, checking for overheating, but his temperature feels fine and-

He freezes at the sight of Kenny walking towards him across the field. 

Kyle looks around. There’s no one else standing next to him. Maybe Kenny’s getting a drink from the water fountain, or he just takes a very roundabout way around the field. One letter was bad enough, there’s no way _two-_

“Broflovski!” Kenny calls, dashing all of Kyle’s hopes.

If he starts running now he can still get away, but his feet won’t move. 

“Hey,” Kenny says once he’s within earshot. Kyle stares at him, praying he doesn’t keep talking. 

His prayers aren’t answered. 

“Um, thanks for the letter. It’s cool and all-” 

Why do people keep saying it’s ‘cool’? It’s not. 

“...and that stuff you said about my eyes was really nice-” 

Kyle’s feet just won’t _move_. Kenny receiving a letter is monumentally worse than Token receiving a letter. One, they haven’t spoken since the end of eighth grade. Two, that letter was one of the most embarrassingly heartbroken things Kyle has ever written. Three, he’s pretty sure Kenny is dating Red right now-

“...but Red and I just broke up-” Okay. Nevermind. But four, if Kenny got a letter, then Stan- 

And _oh my God_ , there’s Stan. Stan, who is walking towards them. Stan, who is holding a letter. Stan, who is holding _the_ letter Kyle wrote Friday night. 

That confrontation will be absolutely devastating, friendship ending, and Kyle can’t deal with that fallout, can’t let Stan believe he’s in love with him because every scenario ends in disaster.

“Kenny,” Kyle blurts out urgently. Kenny stops talking, looking at him curiously. “Kenny,” Kyle repeats as he grabs him by the collar. He has to fix this _now_. “I’m going to kiss you.” 

He presses their lips together before Kenny can react, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes that when they open he’ll be in his bed, Wendy will be texting him not to forget his notes for their Spanish project, his letters will be right where they always were, but when he opens them all he sees is Kenny’s bewildered expression.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, wanting to be buried alive.

“Kyle?” he hears Stan say, voice soaked with confusion.

“Woah,” says Kenny.

Kyle doesn’t answer either of them. He turns and runs, head still spinning, heart thudding in overdrive.


	3. Chapter 3

Kyle gets in his car and drives. There’s still an hour left until the school day ends, but there’s no stopping him from getting as far away as he can. He punches the brakes too fast at a red light, jolting forward, squeezing his eyes shut to keep his vision from spinning.

Three out of five. What are the chances the rest of the letters were delivered? The sobriety of the situation has set in — he’s far past the point of pretending this is a nightmare.

What was he thinking? Kissing Kenny McCormick? Some hysterical part of him had thought it would convince Stan that Kyle wasn’t in love with him, but _God,_ Kenny McCormick?

The car horn blares as he slumps over the steering wheel, startling him upright. 

Who else was there? Token already gave his letter back, and Kyle knows he’s a decent enough person to not tell anyone. There was David Rodriguez. They’d been pen pals for a bit after he moved out of South Park, but maybe David moved again. Maybe he never received the letter. 

He nearly misses the turn into his neighborhood, jerking the wheel shakily. The guy in the van behind him flips him off in the rearview mirror, and Kyle would return the gesture if he wasn’t scared he’d crash without both hands on the wheel.

Who else? Jimmy. Kyle cringes at the thought of Jimmy reading his fifth grade love letter. At least that one can be passed off as a joke — Jimmy has a good sense of humor.

He parks haphazardly on his driveway, startling his mother as he flings the front door open and practically sprints to his room. Everything from the unmade bed to the messy desk looks the same, everything except-

Kyle crouches to the floor and pulls out the shoebox, carelessly pulling off the lid. It’s the final confirmation that this isn’t some messed up dream. He’s greeted with an empty box, filled with nothing but collecting dust and an imprint of where the letters used to be.

He pokes his head out the door, hands cold from the rush to his head. “ _Mom?_ ” 

“Kyle?” she calls back. “Why are you back so early?”

“I had to find something. Did you come into my room?” 

“Of course not, Bubbeh, why would I-” she cuts off abruptly at Kyle’s frustrated scream. It’s not as cathartic as he had hoped. “Bubbeh?” she asks again, but Kyle has already slammed the door shut.

He gracelessly flops onto the bed, feeling the first pulsing spikes of a headache. This is it. His life is over. Kenny knows how he felt. _Stan_ knows how he feels. 

“Bubbeh?” His mom knocks on the door, and Kyle squeezes his eyes shut.

“Leave me alone!” 

His eyes shoot open at the shocked silence. That was _not_ the right thing to say.

“ _Kyle Broflovski_. Open the door right this instant-”

“Mom, _please_. Not right now,” he pleads, and by some miracle, she actually stops rattling the doorknob. Maybe the universe hasn’t completely abandoned him.

He was supposed to go to basketball practice after school, but he can’t do anything. Not when it feels like the world is ending. This is the kind of embarrassment that will never wear off.

Thank God Token was the first one to approach him. Kenny finding him next wasn’t _ideal_ , but anyone would have been a better option than Stan. Kyle groans, rolling over to muffle the sound in his mattress. He has no idea how he’s going to explain this. At the very least, he can rest assured that Stan won’t be talking to Wendy anytime soon. 

And how did his letters get out? His parents don’t know about them, and the only other person who could have gotten into his room is-

“Ike!” his mom exclaims downstairs.

Kyle hears Ike walking upstairs, a door closing, and he’s moving like a man possessed.

Ike yelps, dropping his backpack as Kyle slams his door open. 

“Ike?” he asks, breathing hard.

The guilty look on his face is evidence enough. “...yes?” 

Kyle topples a display of books as he lunges for him, sending Ike scrambling over his bed and out the door.

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” he roars, chasing after Ike as he screams all the way down the stairs.

“Mom!” Ike shrieks, taking cover behind the living room couch.

She comes out of the kitchen, hands covered in flour. “ _Kyle! Ike!_ What is going on?”

“Get over here!” Kyle shouts, making a grab for him as Ike darts behind their mom. 

Ike’s eyes are wide open, mouth pulled down in a pout. The puppy-face worked when he was six years old, but Ike is taller than Kyle now, and the sight infuriates him more than anything.

“Kyle! What happened?” His mom’s eyes widen as Kyle shouts: “he ruined my _life!_ ”

“Bubbeh!” she scolds, cutting off the rest of his tirade. “I’m sure it’s not that serious. Ike didn’t mean any harm. Did you, Ike?” 

Ike wisely chooses to stay silent. 

“Now hug it out,” she says. She’s been reading childcare manuals about raising siblings, and Kyle guesses this is the latest trick in the book.

“Yeah, Ike. Let’s hug it out,” Kyle snarls, hands flexing subconsciously. 

“He’s gonna beat me up!”

“Kyle, you’re not allowed to hurt your brother,” their mom says impatiently. “You boys better have this figured out before your father gets home. I need to finish these bourekas.” Without a backwards glance, she claps her hands and returns to the kitchen.

Kyle still wants to strangle Ike, but the tension from the last hour is starting to set in. He’s high-strung and shaking, and he slumps onto the couch before his legs give out. 

Ike hovers near the staircase, ready to take off in case Kyle decides killing him is worth the consequences.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” he snaps. The question marinates in the quiet. Kyle isn’t in a sympathetic mood, and he moves to stand menacingly, making Ike flinch. “You can tell me now, or sleep with an eye open for the rest of your life,” he says, voice low.

Ike squeaks, the color draining from his face. “I thought you needed a boyfriend!”

“ _Needed?_ ”

“Might want!” Ike corrects hastily. “And you had all those love letters — I didn’t read them, I swear — so I thought maybe, well, you needed a push-”

“Why would you think that?” Kyle cries, absolutely baffled. He shuts his mouth before their mom gets worried and checks on them again.

“You kept making fun of me about Firkle!” Ike says, voice cracking. 

Kyle gapes. “Are you talking about Friday?” If he’d known Ike would react like this, he’d have pretended Firkle didn’t even exist. “ _That’s_ your excuse?”

“I know!” Ike sputters, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I just — I thought you were bothering me about my love life because you don’t...have one.” Ike trails off when he sees Kyle’s expression darken murderously.

He’s saved by the sound of their mom’s voice. “Kyle? Stan is here to see you.”

Kyle freezes. Ike looks at him, eyes wide. 

“Kyle?” 

“I’m not here,” Kyle hisses, sliding onto the floor, crawling out of the window’s view. Ike glances nervously at the front door, jumping when Kyle grabs his ankle. “If you tell him where I am, I _will_ kill you.” He’s not in the best position to be making threats, but Ike nods furiously in agreement.

He locks his bedroom door, folding over onto the bed. Terrance and Phillip seem to be mocking him on the comforter, cartoonish faces wearing smiles that do nothing but nauseate Kyle. His phone buzzes on the table, lit up with a notification from Ike.

_what to tell stan?_

Kyle bites the inside of his cheek, hands hovering over the screen. 

_tell him|_

He blinks at the flashing bar, hating himself a little for letting it get this far, but there’s no time to dwell on what ifs.

_tell him im at wendy’s_

Ike sends a thumbs up a few seconds later, and Kyle sinks into his mattress. His head is pounding, and he brings a hand up to massage his temple when his phone pings again. 

It’s a text from Stan.

_ike says ur not home_

Another follows shortly after.

_can we talk?_

Kyle turns his phone off and tucks his knees towards his chest. He’s screwed. He’s so, so screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the kudos and wonderful comments. they're the best source of motivation ❤️

Kyle considers skipping school on Tuesday, despite having a test in English he can’t make up. 

What’s more important, his dignity or his grades? It’s not a question he wants to face, and after a sleepless night, he shows up to school, praying that he can get through the day without being seen. 

And just his luck, he bumps into Jimmy on the way to his first class. There’s a row of lockers to his right, preventing any exit that looks natural. Kyle would have to turn around 180 degrees to avoid Jimmy.

In the split second he’s weighing whether or not to make a run for it, Jimmy is already opening his mouth. 

“I got your l-letter,” Jimmy says with a smile, ripping the band aid right off. He holds it up, Kyle’s obnoxious elementary handwriting written in bold cursive on the envelope.

It’s not that warm in the school, but Kyle’s hands are sweating as he takes the letter back. “Jimmy, I’m so sorry.” He swallows nervously, words heavy on his tongue. “I never intended for it to reach you. And, well, I wrote it years ago.” 

“F-fifth grade, right? After th...th...the talent show. I didn’t take you as a fan of knock-knock jokes.” Jimmy grins. “I’m glad you think I have d-d-dashingly good looks.” 

Kyle holds back a wince, trying to wrestle his face into neutrality. He  _ was _ a hopeless romantic in elementary school. “Really, Jimmy. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy to receive your comp...comp...compliments. Especially ones so eloquent.”

Kyle laughs, more from the hysteria of this conversation than anything, relaxing when Jimmy goes: “what a terrific audience.”

“Do you think,” Kyle hopes he’s not blushing too hard, “you could keep it a secret?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jimmy winks. “I won’t tell.”

It’s almost too easy, and Kyle feels like sinking to the floor. Honestly, he’d been expecting more questions, and Jimmy’s reaction is a necessary reality check.

He walks Jimmy to his biology class, mulling over the responses he’s received so far. Everyone has been mercifully understanding. Maybe Kyle has been overreacting. Maybe it’ll be just as easy with Stan.

Even then, explaining the contents of Stan’s letter is a terrifying thought, and Kyle spends the first half of his day figuring out how to dodge the issue. Three hours go by, and Kyle has neither found a solution nor paid attention to any of his lectures.

He and Stan don’t share any classes, mostly because Kyle overzealously stacked advanced courses, but seeing each other at lunch will likely be inevitable. 

Kyle could eat in his car. But they might find him there. The bathroom? No. That’s too risky. 

His grades are starting to look a lot less important than his dignity by the time the lunch bell rings, and he heads towards the cafeteria, shaky on his feet. 

He ducks behind a column once he gets there, eliciting weird looks as he surveys the crowded room for either of his friends. And  _ oh no,  _ Stan walks through the door, hunched over, hands in his pockets as he walks past the lunch tables. He looks fine, unaffected, completely different from the person Kyle comforted last Friday.

Still, there’s something glaringly wrong with the sight of Stan sitting alone at the table he usually shares with Kyle and Wendy. It’s not something Kyle wants to witness.

In a nervous panic, Kyle turns around, and rams straight into Kenny.

“Broflovski.” It’s an emotionless sound, pure statement, and Kyle braces himself in anticipation. 

At the very least, Kenny will get angry. Worst case scenario, he starts demanding an explanation. He’s already planning escape routes when he warily meets Kenny’s eyes.

On the contrary, neither of Kyle’s guesses were accurate. Kenny smiles, seeming to enjoy Kyle’s deer-in-headlights look. “Do you kiss everyone so passionately, or is it just me?”

The implication takes a second to set in. When it does, Kyle unthinkingly grabs Kenny by the arm and pulls them both into the secluded hallway.

“Looking for your next victim?” Kenny asks when Kyle turns around to make sure no one saw them.

“Haha.” Kyle scowls, attention drifting towards the cafeteria seating arrangements. He watches Wendy sit down with Nichole through the door. Stan is talking to Henrietta four tables away.

“You’re not the type of person to randomly kiss someone.” There’s an open-ended question at the end of the statement, but Kyle doesn’t rise to the bait.

He fights back his tripling embarrassment, and realizes he’s chewing on his thumbnail nervously. “It’s not something you have to worry about,” he says dismissively, pulling his thumb away from his mouth. “It’s complicated.”

Kenny frowns. “Come on, Kyle. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing against — er — to do with you.” 

“It have something to do with this?” Kenny holds up his letter, and Kyle reflexively pushes his hand down, whipping his head around to make sure no one saw. Besides them, there are a few students scattered in the hallway.

“Not here,” he hisses. 

“I didn’t know you think I’m the cutest in our grade.” Kenny grins, proffering the letter more discreetly. Kenny’s name is written in ridiculous calligraphy with blue ink.

“I don’t,” Kyle snaps. “I wrote that in eighth grade.” But that’s not completely accurate. Kyle wrote the letter after Kenny left. “Summer of eighth grade,” he amends.

Kenny searches his face, and Kyle instinctively knows he’s waiting for Kyle to elaborate. They used to be the same height, but now Kenny is half a head taller even when he’s leaning against the wall. It’s a bitter reminder of how much has changed. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Kenny says quietly, and there’s too much left unsaid behind that statement, so Kyle shuts it down.

“Look, I don’t even remember what I wrote.” That’s a lie. Kyle remembers exactly what he wrote. He was too hurt, too angry to forget it. “I’m sorry for kissing you. I won’t do it again.”

“Does it have something to do with Stan and Wendy?” 

Kenny clearly isn’t going to let up until he gets answers, and while Kyle is not enjoying this particular conversation, talking to him is much better than the other option: talking to Stan.

“Did you hear about their breakup?” Kyle whispers.

“Me and the entire school. Pretty good timing. Took the heat off me and Red.”

“Oh.” Kyle looks away. Evidently, he’s never been good with relationship drama. “I’m sorry.”

Kenny shrugs. “Breakup season, I guess.”

“Right. Um, I did something really stupid.” He glances back into the cafeteria. “I can’t talk to either of them until I’ve fixed it, because, well, it’d ruin everything.”

Kenny’s gaze flickers from Stan to Wendy, sitting on opposite sides of the room. “Looks like it’s already pretty ruined.”

Kyle groans, pressing his hand to his forehead. He’d forgotten how quippish Kenny was. “I’m trying to preserve what’s left of it. So,” he moves to pluck the letter out of Kenny’s hand, “as you can see, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Kenny raises the letter out of Kyle’s reach. “Hey, Stan.”

Kyle almost gets whiplash from how fast he turns, ready to bolt at the shortest notice.

There’s no one there.

“Nothing for me to worry about,” Kenny repeats, mouth twitching in a smile when Kyle glares at him, heart hammering in his throat.

“I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this, okay?” Kyle squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How about an explanation?” 

Kenny smiles like he knows Kyle will agree, which only makes him want to stubbornly decline, but it’s also the easiest decision he has. He looks back towards his friends, biting his lip at the gaping space between them. Kenny is still waiting expectantly when he turns back around. 

There’s a low, aching feeling in Kyle’s gut, too many emotions jumbled at once. Kyle is  _ so _ going to regret this. “When are you free?”   
  



End file.
